


Blessed Silence Be Damned

by ArcticKiss



Series: Bewitchered [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Again, And a little bit of murder, And there's a child, Angst with a Happy Ending, Asthma, Awesome Roach (The Witcher), Blood, But also secretly really fond of them, But also still establishing relationship?, But it's not Ciri, Canon-Typical Violence, Established Relationship, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Hurt Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Insecure Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier is a badass, M/M, Oh and Also, Original Character(s), Poisoning, Protective Jaskier | Dandelion, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, They fuck but are still learning to communicate, Yennefer is so tired of these idiots, and Paralysis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:53:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25421197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArcticKiss/pseuds/ArcticKiss
Summary: The only way to truly hurt Geralt is through Jaskier. The only way to truly hurt Jaskier is through Geralt. This is fine, as long as neither of them makes an enemy who figures it out.Meanwhile, Jaskier fights with words instead of swords and proves he isn’t as weak and helpless as Geralt might think, Geralt learns to use words for other purposes and nobody fucks with Roach.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion/Original Male Character(s)
Series: Bewitchered [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1841308
Comments: 42
Kudos: 435





	1. A Popular Bard

**Author's Note:**

> So it turns out I got attached to my idiots in [You Say You Need No One, Yet Here We Are](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22497505), so I made a series to hurt them some more. You don't really need to have read the first part, it's referenced but not vital to the story. No smut included, but let me know if you would like me to write some? Will update every day.

A pretty young woman had made herself comfortable in Jaskier’s lap. 

Jaskier hardly seemed to notice her. He laughed along joyfully and exchanged excited glances with the rest of his drinking company when the well-endowed wife of the innkeeper bent over to distribute their refills, but he never looked down at the girl snuggling up to his chest. He ignored her huffed protest when he raised his tankard to his lips too enthusiastically and some of the ale sloshed over the side and splattered into her hair. Instead, he seemed all ears for the unbelievable tale one of the townspeople seated at his table was spinning.

This was the scene that greeted Geralt as he returned from the stables. He threw off his cloak and pushed his wet hair out of his face. It was a mess. Jaskier would complain loudly when he brushed out the tangles for him. Geralt would just hum and not feel guilty at all.

He ignored Jaskier’s loud company of drunkards and aspiring whores and sat down alone at his empty table in the corner. He pointed his gaze towards a man seated near the fire in the back of the room. This man had been throwing glances at Jaskier since Geralt returned from today’s trip to the local swamp up to when he stepped outside to check on Roach ten minutes ago.

The man was still there, still watching. He was young, thirty at most, and Geralt knew he was of noble birth from the quality of his clothing and the arrogance on his face. He had been eating and drinking with four other men dressed in fine yet practical clothing with battle-worn physiques, most likely his soldiers or personal guard. 

Those other men had left to sleep a while ago. Their lord had waved them off and stayed here alone, for more drinks, and more staring. The parts of his cheeks that were visible above his beard were tinged pink. It could be from his proximity to the hearth, the ale, or something else.

Jaskier seemed unaware of the fact that he was being watched, but he was also blind to a certain girl’s blatant attempts at getting his attention, and she was sitting in his lap, now pouting and pointing at a drop of ale on her bosom, asking Jaskier to wipe it off for her and batting her eyelashes at him, so… Jaskier’s cheeks were flushed pink as well. He was probably already drunk or getting there.

As he looked over, Geralt observed that the girl was probably, naively, starting to think she wasn’t being obvious enough. She pulled down the fabric of her dress, which was barely covering her breasts as it was, and leaned in even closer, wiggling her ass in Jaskier’s lap as she moved.

Geralt looked away again. 

He and Jaskier had an agreement. Geralt dealt with monsters, Jaskier dealt with people, most of the time. Jaskier had tried to make Geralt promise to let him take care of himself in situations like these, to make him feel less ‘like a damsel in distress being protected by a jealous lover’ as he put it. Geralt hadn’t promised, knowing that there was a definite grey area between people and monsters. But he did give Jaskier as much space as he could endure.

There were certain lines he simply couldn’t let people cross when it came to Jaskier, certain unspoken exceptions to their agreement. Jaskier seemed to be aware of them even if though they had never discussed these terms. Right now, Jaskier didn’t seem too drunk to know what he was doing, and he wasn’t hurt or distressed, so Geralt stayed in his corner.

Finally, Jaskier shifted his attention to the girl in his lap. She immediately perked up. She was pretty, but couldn’t be very bright. Even an idiot could tell from Jaskier’s expression that she wasn’t going to enjoy this. Jaskier pushed his face into her wavy hair to whisper something into her ear and her entire face flushed, then fell. Her plump lips narrowed into a thin line as she gathered her skirt and quickly stood up. 

She stomped off without looking back. The men gathered around the table laughed obnoxiously loud in a valiant effort to hide their jealousy.

Geralt kept himself from smiling by turning his gaze to the nobleman behind Jaskier again. Young and pretty faced he was, but there was something monstrous in his eyes Geralt’s witcher instincts shouted at him to mark as a threat. 

The innkeeper wandered over to Geralt’s table, annoyingly blocking his line of view to ask him if the condition of the stables was to the liking of his horse and if the fine gentleman - he truly seemed to be addressing Geralt this way - wanted another drink.

Geralt had never received such polite service before he met Jaskier, and while he didn’t miss the stench of fear and the bad ale, he sometimes longed for the peace and quiet of the old days. “Stable’s fine and no,” he bit out, making the man jump a little. Well… it hadn’t always been peaceful and quiet. “Thanks,” he grumbled as an afterthought, because a familiar voice in the back of his mind told him ‘I’m never going to fix your reputation if you keep being this rude to people, no matter what I sing about you’. 

The innkeeper left with a little bow and Geralt resumed his glaring. At some point the man would have to take his creepy hungry eyes off Jaskier, look over and get the hint. Any time now.

Ever since Geralt had realised what Jaskier meant to him, and that Jaskier somehow felt something similar for him and was, inexplicably, his, he had been painfully aware of the possibility of losing him. 

Between losing Jaskier to a monster or to another lover, Geralt without a doubt preferred the latter, but that didn’t mean he liked the idea.

If Jaskier would, at some point in his life, leave him for a woman, Geralt expected to feel hurt, but knew he’d understand. A woman could simply offer Jaskier things Geralt never could. A man…would hurt more. 

Jaskier himself seemed oblivious to all the attention he received. He’d once or twice told Geralt that he had a weak heart that loved easily. Geralt assumed that meant Jaskier wasn’t meant to only ever have a single lover. And yet, ever since Bellmare and their first kiss, Geralt hadn’t seen him so much as look at someone else with any intention other than charming them out of their coin.

Flirting with his audience was still a part of all of Jaskier’s performances, but whenever the music stopped he turned his bright eyes and dazzling smile to Geralt and kept them there. Geralt didn’t know how long being the single focus of Jaskier’s affection would last, but he knew it was something precious he wanted to protect for as long as he could.

In the end, the man possibly preying on Jaskier did look over at Geralt. His face remained stoic under the fierce glare, but he paid and left the room shortly after. 

Good.

Geralt breathed a sigh of relief when Jaskier bid his little party of villagers goodnight and asked Geralt with a nod of his head and a wink to follow him. 

He shook his head at himself when he immediately sprung into action like an obedient dog, but he had spent a long and uneventful day out in the rain, and if he looked forward to ending it curled up in his owners lap by a warm fire, in a manner of speaking, that was his business. 

No one needed to actually hear these embarrassing thoughts of his. Luckily Geralt was good at keeping quiet.

Jaskier was waiting for him by the stairs leading up to the first floor and their room. He wrapped his arms around Geralt’s neck and pulled him into a kiss.

Geralt’s hands automatically went to his waist. Jaskier’s body was warm, covered in soft silky smooth fabrics and it relaxed into him with a happy sigh from Jaskier. 

Allowing Jaskier the space to enjoy himself on days like these was worth it. Geralt marvelled at the fact that someone like Jaskier always came back to him at the end of the day, no matter how much fun he’d had staying in town or whatever disgusting gruesome job had left Geralt covered in mud and blood or worse. 

Jaskier smelled of smoke from the hearth, sweat, dried fruit and alcohol, with a familiar floral scent underneath. He tasted simply like Jaskier, sweet. Geralt could smell arousal on him as well. He liked to think that was because of him and not the girl rubbing her ass in his lap earlier. 

Jaskier pulled back and smiled at him. “I’m glad you’re back. Sorry I didn’t join you. There was this guy who knew the juiciest gossip from a servant job up at the castle and when we fed him some ale he didn’t even realise he was giving us the potential blackmail material of a lifetime. At first I thought he was making it all up, but then I figured he was much too dimwitted for that. Oh ho, I’ve learned some things.”

Geralt brushed a soft kiss to Jaskier’s lips in response to his seemingly endless stream of words, and then gave him a stern look. He was better with actions than words.

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “I’m glad you missed me too, and no, of course I won’t actually use it. Blackmailing powerful people is dangerous, Jaskier, don’t go looking for trouble, yada yada. I just thought it might be useful to know, you know.”

Geralt gave him another kiss.

“Did you find anything today?” Jaskier asked when their lips parted again.

“No, I think I got the whole nest yesterday, already collected the coin.”

“Good.”

“Did you have fun today?” 

Jaskier smiled happily. “Obviously, and I also earned us some coin. People have great taste in this town.”

“Hmm.”

Jaskier gave him a final lingering kiss and then pulled back a bit. “I’ll quickly go say goodnight to Roach. I haven’t spoken to her all day.” He pressed close again and let his lips brush against Geralt’s jaw when he spoke. “Don’t go to sleep yet, you look like you could use a bath. I’ll join you shortly and show you how much I’ve missed you.”

Geralt reluctantly released him and watched him walk towards the door that led out into the cold rainy night. He stayed behind at the bottom of the narrow staircase and waited a moment, because he could hear someone coming down. The heat of Jaskier’s body lingered on his skin and Geralt savoured the sweet taste of him on his tongue.

The person coming down almost pressed themselves up against the wall to avoid running into him and hurried outside, nearly tripping in their haste. Geralt didn’t pay them any attention. He was used to this. 

It was when he was upstairs, reaching for the door to their room, that he felt a tingle of unease run up his skin. Something was off, something he’d observed but not consciously registered.

Geralt leaned his head against the door, closed his eyes and replayed everything his senses had picked up during the past few minutes in his head.

He hadn’t consciously counted the steps as he was walking up, but he knew there were more…more than the footsteps he’d heard from the person walking down, yes, definitely more. That person had been lingering in the shadows, halfway up the stairs, waiting, only going unnoticed because their quiet breathing and heartbeat were overshadowed by Jaskier’s blinding smile and tempting kisses.

Jaskier stepped outside and stared at the heavy curtain of rain. The overhanging roof protected him from the worst of the water, but not the chill that accompanied it. He shivered at the thought that Geralt and Roach had been out in this kind of weather all day. The night was pitch black and the only light came from a flickering lantern mounted to the wall on his left. The other one on the right had gone out.

He’d just started walking left, towards the light and the stable doors, when a noise behind him drew his attention. He turned to see a cloaked figure quickly approach and step around him, putting Jaskier between his body and the wall.

The cloak was pushed back to reveal the face of a young man with tightly curled dark brown hair and a short beard that framed his not unpleasantly shaped face. One corner of his mouth was curled up in an arrogant smile and the look in his green eyes was hungry.

“Hey, beautiful, I was hoping you’d step out alone. This must be fate. Allow me to offer you a much nicer place to sleep tonight than this damp cot and even better company.” He finished with a flourish and held out his hand, an invitation for Jaskier to offer his to be kissed.

Jaskier had been jumped by admiring strangers in the dark after performances often enough that he doubted fate had anything to do with it. Still, it was flattering.

“Thank you for the compliment and the offer, darling,” he responded as he took a subtle step to the side to regain his personal space. “I’m not interested though.”

The man shook his head, as if Jaskier was misunderstanding something. “I know that you’ve offered yourself to the wolf. I understand. Times are tough and pretty flowers like you need protection.” He reached out as if to touch Jaskier’s face. Jaskier took a less subtle step away from him. Undeterred, the man followed and continued: “But you deserve so much better. Don’t worry, I’ll wash his filth off you and keep you safe.”

Jaskier had to bite his tongue to fight the urge to knee the guy in the groin then. “I’ll still have to decline your offer. Goodbye.” He suddenly really wanted to get back inside. He had drank too much to stay polite for long. Experience taught him that speaking his mind to every idiot who disrespected Geralt was a waste of his time and energy, but that hardly every stopped him, sober or not.

Roach was probably well taken care of. Geralt had checked on her not long ago. Jaskier would just treat her to a long brushing session tomorrow.

The man blocked his way to the door. “Aw, Julian, don’t be like that. I understand from your conversation earlier that you’re fond of his horse. I can buy you ten horses, better ones, how about that?”

Jaskier froze at his name. It was hard to ignore the dig at Roach, but this seemed important. “Have we met?”

The man sighed. “Julian, please, don’t pretend you don’t remember me. It’s taken me years to track you down. How are things in Lettenhove? Or are you still running away from your responsibilities? How foolish of me, of course you are.”

Jaskier frowned and wrecked his brain. There was something vaguely familiar about this face, but he wasn’t drunk enough that he wouldn’t remember someone truly important. “Years to track me down, really?” He found that hard to believe. “I haven’t been that difficult to find for someone who isn’t just using that as a pick up line. I’m not pretending, or running. Is it my title you’re after? You can have it, I’m not using it, the land you’ll need to discuss with the family.”

The man inhaled sharply, a very exaggerated hurt expression appeared on his face. “You’re really wounding me now. Okay, maybe I haven’t been very actively looking for you, but I’ve thought about you often, sweet Julian. Lettenhove though, that dump? I plan to keep you in Balgara with me, of course. It must truly be fate that we meet again, the very same day my father…no, I won’t ruin the surprise yet. Come with me, I’ll tell you with the proper etiquette.”


	2. A Grumpy Witcher

A faint memory dawned in the back of Jaskier’s mind. There had been an arrogant brat of a higher status who took a liking to him and tried to add him to his harem of pretty boys, or something equally creepy. They had messed around for a while, but Jaskier had quickly caught on and left. The guy had been nineteen at the time. If this was him, he’d grown out of his baby face. “Nikolai?”

“Ouch, my name phrased as a question? I see barely left an impression then and am not making one now either. It doesn’t matter, there’s time. Follow me.”

“No.”

Nikolai grinned. “As feisty as I remember. Come on, Julian, I’ve acquired even more wealth since we last spoke. You, as far I can tell, have got nothing except for some mediocre songs and a questionable reputation as a witcher’s lover on the side.” He pulled a face of disgust. “As if those beasts are actually capable of the feeling.”

“Don’t,” Jaskier threatened. He remained calm, but only just. This worm wasn’t worth his time. How any of this was supposed to win him his heart was beyond Jaskier, but it proved the guy was delusional enough that trying to change his mind with rational arguments would yield absolutely zero results.

There was a real possibility that Geralt would come looking for him or was already listening nearby, and Jaskier knew that if he sounded hurt or agitated it would trigger something painful for Nikolai and messy for him, and he would really like to just go to his room and curl up in the arms of his loving beast, thank you very much. 

He took a steadying breath. “Great seeing you,” he said, so sarcastically even a dumbass like Nikolai had to catch on. “Let’s catch up some time, or never. Definitely not now though, I’m calling it a night, if you don’t mind.”

“I mind.” Nikolai grabbed his arm, pulled him close and kept him in place. 

Jaskier looked at him, a warning in his eyes, but didn’t struggle. “You really don’t want to do this,” he said slowly.

“Do what?” Nikolai pulled him even closer and actually had the audacity to sniff at his neck. “You smell good, such a rare pretty flower, you probably taste good, too.”

Up close Nikolai smelled like he drank too much and washed too little. Jaskier truly wished he could have been spared this knowledge.

“Seriously, Nikolai,” he said. “I guess you’re really bad at taking a hint, so I’ll explain it to you carefully. I didn’t want you back when I was, what was it, seventeen? I don’t want you now. I have absolutely zero interest in following you anywhere. This will never change, not even if you owned an entire kingdom.”

Behind Nikolai’s back, Jaskier saw something move in the shadows near the door. He really needed to wrap this up.

Nikolai, like a complete utter idiot, squeezed his arm tighter. Jaskier barely managed to keep himself from letting out a sound of surprise at the sudden pressure. 

“You don’t mean that, Julian. Everybody wants me.” He pulled back a little to look into Jaskier’s eyes and grinned. “Is that fear I see? Oh, little Julian, you don’t have to fear me. I won’t hurt you. I’ll keep you safe. I’ll take such good care of you.”

Fuck. This really seemed like a lost cause, but Jaskier gave it one more try. “I don’t fear _you_ , you imbecile,” he hissed, “I fear for you. Not that I care, but cleaning up mangled bodies always is such a hassle, and if someone sees we’ll be kicked out and I have to begin rebuilding our reputation in this part of the kingdom all over again, seriously, let go and piss off.”

Nikolai seemed stunned. For a second Jaskier actually hoped he had understood. Then something dark and feral appeared in the man’s expression. “Are you threatening me?” He squeezed Jaskier’s probably already bruised arm even tighter. Jaskier hissed involuntarily, a small sound, but more than enough. He sighed, closed his eyes in resignation and counted the two angry strides it took Geralt to reach them.

Nikolai’s smelly presence was ripped away from him suddenly. His arm was pulled along at first but quickly released. 

Jaskier opened his eyes to a terrified Nikolai being pinned to the side of the building by both Geralt’s icy stare and his iron grip, one hand on his throat, the other around the wrist of the hand Nikolai had grabbed Jaskier with. Nikolai’s fingers were twisted as his arm instinctively strained against the pressure to keep its bones from snapping.

“You were hurting him,” Geralt growled. “He told you to let go.”

Nikolai didn’t say anything. With apparent difficulty he shifted his eyes away from Geralt’s murderous gaze and found Jaskier’s, silently begging him for help.

Jaskier shrugged. “What do you want me to do? I tried to warn you. He’s right, you know.” He rubbed his arm. The hand around Nikolai’s throat tightened until he was gasping for air. Nikolai pulled and scratched at Geralt’s arm with his free hand. Geralt ignored his pathetic efforts completely and looked over at Jaskier.

“Are you alright?”

Jaskier beamed a smile at him. “Of course.” Then he frowned disapprovingly. “I totally had this, you know.”

Geralt raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

Jaskier put his hands on his hips and tried to look offended. Maybe his arm ached and his heart was beating a little faster than normal, but he hadn’t needed to be _rescued_. After all, if he started to rely on Geralt having his back too much he might…get used to it. “Pfff, yeah, I would have started kicking his ass ages ago if I could be sure that wouldn’t trigger some messy murder spree in you.”

Geralt snorted, but had the decency to look a little guilty. Good, this persistent belief of Geralt’s that Jaskier was weak and vulnerable would have to be addressed properly at some point. 

Nikolai was turning blue at what was probably a worrying rate. Maybe they could address it later.

“Speaking of murder,” Jaskier said. “You should probably release him.”

“Why?” Geralt asked, giving him a questioning look.

Jaskier rolled his eyes. He felt so much more rational and in control then he deserved to be after how much ale he’d consumed. He’d suspected the innkeeper of watering it down. This had to count as proof. 

What he should do was just let Geralt kill the guy and then drag him upstairs and swallow his cock to apologise for this mess. What he did was actually address the flash of hurt in Geralt’s eyes. “Really? No, Geralt, it’s not because I care for him and want to leave you and have his babies or whatever ridiculous thing you’re imagining. The man you’re choking is, if I remember correctly, Nikolai Zagata de Balgara.” 

Nikolai tried to nod and managed to choke himself further on Geralt’s hand. Jaskier rolled his eyes, again. 

“His father is the earl of Balgara. We’re very close to his land right now.”

Nikolai made and offended noise. Jaskier raised an eyebrow at him. “On his land?” Nikolai made an affirmative noise. “On his land then, apparently he’s gained more. Anyway, there will probably be some messy political backlash if he finds his eldest son in a puddle of blood outside one of his own inns, not good for business, disastrous for our reputation. You can’t frown at me for bringing up blackmailing royals and then kill this guy without being a total hypocrite.”

Nikolai made a noise that was probably meant to sound affirmative again, but now reminded Jaskier of the death rattle of a beheaded cockatrice.

He sighed. Geralt was like a powerful weapon that he, without asking, had been granted full permission to wield. Really, he didn’t ask for this. Great power meant great responsibility and it all took such delicate handling sometimes. He was only a bard. “Please, Geralt, I don’t give two shits about him, I just want to go to bed.”

Geralt finally let go then. Nikolai slid down the side of the building like a rag doll and landed in the mud, gasping for air.

Geralt stepped between him and Jaskier. A large hand cupped Jaskier’s face. “He touched you,” he said.

Jaskier hadn’t failed to notice that. “Yes, Geralt, but I’m fine, really.” He frowned at the frantic look in Geralt’s eyes and reached up to frame Geralt’s face with his hands and pull him close.

“I’m here,” he said. “It’s okay, Geralt, you saved me. I’m here. I’m yours.” He focused on Geralt’s eyes and watched as his words slowly quenched the flames of anger and fear in them. Geralt closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Jaskier touched his forehead to Geralt’s and stroked gentle fingers into his hair. It was still damp with rain and tangled, in desperate need of Jaskier’s love and attention. 

Jaskier only stepped back when Geralt seemed sufficiently calm and reassured.

Nikolai hadn’t moved from where he sat slumped down in the mud. They ignored him, but the man seemed to have learned absolutely nothing from the whole experience, because between gasps and coughing he bit out: “I’ll kill you for this.”

Geralt froze and growled low in his throat. Jaskier shushed him with a hand on his arm.

What Jaskier, for the thousandth time, wanted to do was to give the asshole a piece of his mind and possibly a few broken ribs for the way he’d talked about Geralt. What would be better for everybody was to get away from him as soon as possible. Really, when had it become Jaskier’s job to be the voice of reason? He was not suited for this at all. Geralt was usually the calm one between them, just not when it came to protecting Jaskier. Jaskier had been forced to learn from a couple of bloodbaths, banishments and broken furniture.

“I’m sure you will,” he tutted at Nikolai. More courageous people had threatened to kill him and never actually followed through. Remembering an encounter with Geralt’s protective side usually had them considering twice before they ever came close again.

“Not you,” Nikolai said, surprisingly confident. When he looked up, Jaskier felt a chill run down his spine. That had to be because he’d been out in this rainy weather for far too long. Geralt would start scolding him for not wearing his cloak any time now. 

“Remember what I offered you,” Nikolai continued. “What you could have had, I want you to live with that knowledge. No one turns me down unpunished. I’ll make you regret this.”

The stupid arrogant boy he’d vaguely known once had grown up to be an even more stupid arrogant man. Jaskier really wanted to point out that, technically, this was the second time he’d turned down an offer from Nikolai, and also that one glance from him at Geralt could end his life right now. But the idiot seemed properly provoked already. He couldn’t help one last sneer. “Regret what? Saving your ass? I already do.”

He tugged a reluctant Geralt inside and felt more mature than he’d ever intended to be in his life.

“I don’t like making you have to deal with people,” Jaskier chatted as he fiddled clumsily with the key to lock their door. He seemed to have sobered up considerably downstairs, but maybe he was a little drunk after all. “But this is better than sleeping out in that dreadful downpour.”

“Hmm,” Geralt responded. Not that Jaskier really needed responses to keep talking. 

“Do you think it’s ever going to stop raining? No, never mind, don’t answer that. I know you’re so ready to leave this place, but I’d like to have you in a bed at least one more time.”

“Hmm.” Geralt wasn’t really listening. He sat down on the bed and wanted to pull his boots off, but before he had the chance to reach for them Jaskier climbed over him, legs on either side of Geralt’s body and sat in his lap, facing him.

Jaskier had always, since the day they met, talked to Geralt without shame or hesitation, never heeding any warning that Geralt might want him to shut up. These days, ever since Geralt had explained to him as clearly as he could that having him close was something he very much enjoyed and actively consented to, Jaskier also _touched_ him unreservedly.

They were many small touches, a hand on his thigh as Geralt sat atop Roach, a brush of fingers when Geralt handed him something. And some big touches, suddenly hugging him, a desperate kiss when Geralt left for a fight, or climbing into his lap like this.

Geralt sometimes, though not very often, thought about brushing him off or pushing him away when he got especially handsy. He would, if the touches got too much. He was completely in control of who touched him and when. Geralt didn’t really do hints, people always knew when they got too close. Jaskier just…hadn’t crossed that line yet.

Jaskier leaned forward and softly brushed his lips against Geralt’s. He pulled back with a small frown on his face. “What has you all grumpy? Don’t tell me you’re thinking about another man with me in your bed?”

Geralt cleared his throat and raised his hands to wrap them around Jaskier’s waist. They fit perfectly. This way he would at least feel like he was in control of the bard in his lap, or so he told himself. In control was probably the opposite of what he felt when Jaskier leaned forward and started nibbling on his ear, his hot breaths blowing into his hair and tickling his skin.

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed. You make such a cute grumpy witcher,” Jaskier giggled, more tickling.

“Jaskier,” Geralt said, hoping it sounded somewhat admonishing and not…breathlessly lustful, “you’re drunk.”

Geralt hadn’t drank much himself. Not since he noticed the stranger watching Jaskier and got the feeling he needed to stay alert for this. He felt a little fuzzy, a warm tingling feeling spreading through his limbs, but that wasn’t because of any alcohol. Jaskier pushed impossibly closer and rolled his hips. The scent of his arousal mixed with the tangy scent of ale on his breath and the something sweet and distinctively him underneath was intoxicating.

“I know I am,” Jaskier slurred, exaggerating, his lips brushing the sensitive skin below Geralt’s ear. “Just a little though, not enough to not remember anything you tell me.” After a teasing lick he added: “Or do to me.”

“Too drunk to have a serious conversation,” Geralt insisted.

“Possibly,” Jaskier agreed. He continued nibbling on Geralt’s ear. “Let’s stop talking then.”

Jaskier only stopped talking when Geralt growled, lifted him up and pushed him into the bed. It seemed he only ever stopped talking to gasp and moan and shout Geralt’s name.


	3. A Knife to the Throat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads-up for a tiny bit of non-con above the belt groping in this one. No more. I do not enjoy having my characters raped.

Jaskier didn’t expect to ever be reminded of the existence of Nikolai Zagata de Balgara again. He didn’t want to apply the word destiny to anyone other than Geralt, but no matter what you call it, the invisible force that pulls your life in the complete opposite direction of where you want it to go seemed to have different plans for him.

The day after the idiot tried to charm him with the elegance of a drowner, Geralt threw one of his strange out of the blue conversations starters at him that had Jaskier’s mind working overtime figuring out what he really meant to say.

They were on the road again. The rain had, thankfully, finally stopped and Jaskier cheerfully walked alongside Roach, hopping over or around puddles, but getting his boots muddy regardless. Geralt would let him ride if he asked, but he was happy to stretch his legs after spending three days holed up in an inn.

He was talking about something, he couldn’t remember what, possibly the weather, possibly another plea to cross the Pontar, because he was getting bored of Redania, even though he knew Geralt had heard him the first time and they were already heading south. Anyway, it was one of those many instances when he was talking to Geralt, not with him, simply driving off the dull silence of the valley around them, when Geralt’s deep voice suddenly interrupted his train of thought.

“He called you a flower.”

Jaskier turned and looked up, distracted. “What…who?”

“Yesterday.” Geralt frowned and added, accusingly: “You said you weren’t drunk enough to forget anything.”

“Oh, him.” Jaskier made a face, then shrugged. “I wasn’t really listening to his nonsense, but if he called me a flower it’s obviously because he has eyes and could see I’m beautiful. Why?”

“Do you like…” Geralt cleared his throat.

“Do I like what?”

Geralt sighed. “Never mind.”

Jaskier was properly confused now. “Do I like what, Geralt? Being compared to plants? Rudely having my strumming arm bruised? Are you…I sure hope you’re not suggesting I like _him_ , because I would be so insulted. Geralt, what are you asking me?”

“I said never mind.” Geralt spurred Roach until she was moving faster than Jaskier could walk.

Jaskier sighed and continued walking at the same pace. He honestly didn’t understand what Geralt was being insecure about, because of Nikolai fucking Zagata of all people.

He was aware of the fact that Geralt didn’t mind women flirting with him half as much as he did men. Maybe that was simply where this was coming from. But Jaskier had decided a while ago to avoid acknowledging the male attention he got. It was no hardship, since Geralt gave him more than enough. It wasn’t like he had encouraged Nikolai in any way.

It didn’t take long before he ran into Geralt again, seated atop a calmly grazing Roach and muttering something about perfidious horses and bards. Jaskier rewarded Roach by lovingly scratching an itchy spot in her mane and attempted to reassure Geralt all was well by spending the rest of the afternoon complaining loudly about being almost left behind.

It happened a little over three weeks after their unfortunate encounter with Nikolai. 

All had seemed well during the day. The weather was good and contracts had been easy of late. They were in the vicinity of Bellmare now and when they stopped for a break, Jaskier, sitting down on the grass in the shade of a large oak, nostalgically wondered out loud if their old friend Jana was still alive.

Geralt didn’t like being reminded of the short life expectancy of humans, so he focused on filling his waterskin in the stream that ran in a wide curve around the foot of the oak and didn’t respond. Jaskier happily chatted on, until he suddenly squeaked and started laughing.

Geralt looked over his shoulder and guessed Roach had managed to startle Jaskier by suddenly breathing onto his neck when he was distracted, as he sometimes seemed to be when he watched Geralt perform some boring menial task with his sleeves rolled up. 

Roach certainly looked smug enough for it, and Jaskier was muttering mild insults and playfully swatting at her. Geralt looked away again when he felt himself smile and pretended not to care for the way his bard and his horse loved and teased each other.

It should have felt like the calm before the storm. 

He should have known, should have been able to tell from…something. Geralt knew even powerful sorcerers couldn’t predict the future, but still, he should have.

He should have stuck to his plan to camp right there, outside, with Jaskier burying into his side to escape the cold and Roach right beside them. He shouldn’t have let Jaskier convince him to rent a room at the nearest inn, even if the tempting reason he gave was to ‘worship him on a proper bed’. It wasn’t even about the bed - a straw mattress of questionable comfort and hygiene-, but about having an audience to play for, Geralt knew. 

He knew Jaskier enjoyed it, and liked making himself useful. As if the coin he earned had anything to do with Geralt keeping him close. Geralt didn’t mind, but he should have convinced Jaskier to play somewhere else, anywhere, some other time.

Rationally, he knew the time and place probably weren’t to blame, but how else could he have prevented what happened?

He definitely should have paid attention then, not just in hindsight, to the man who had retrieved a cage with a homing pigeon from his room at the inn, walked outside and returned with an empty cage. Geralt should have wondered why the moment someone chose to send a message was only seconds after Jaskier appeared and started to tune his lute in preparation for his performance.

Geralt stared at the simple thatched roof above his head. He could just make out the individual bundles of straw in the grey morning light that seeped in through gaps between the planks in front of him. He could only see the top of this wooden wall, where it met the roof.

Staring at that damned roof was all he could do, stare and think. He thought about squeezing a certain neck just a little tighter weeks ago. He could imagine it vividly, feel the bones snap beneath his fingers, hear the weak gurgling noise and see green hateful eyes go blank. He couldn’t actually squeeze any necks now, might never be able to again, but that wasn’t the worst of it. 

The worst was that Jaskier was gone.

What happened was this.

Geralt groaned when something stirred against his side. Jaskier had been in a passionate mood tonight and Geralt felt utterly sated. He hardly ever slept this well. Why did Jaskier, who had gone completely boneless after his second orgasm, drifted off immediately and usually slept like a log, have to disturb him now? He moved his arm and pulled Jaskier’s warm body tighter against him.

Jaskier placed a comforting kiss on his cheek, slipped out from under his arm and whispered: “I’ll go check on Roach. It’s probably nothing, just a stupid feeling, sleep, I’ll be right back.” His bare feet padded across the room and Geralt heard him pull on his boots and slip through the door.

He forced himself to stay awake and listen for other noises. The stables were right below the window of their room and when a horse whinnied again, the sound that must have woken Jaskier, he did recognise Roach. She sounded curious though, not distressed. Perhaps a very late traveller had arrived. If Geralt really concentrated he could hear hushed voices. Multiple travellers?

He recognised Jaskier’s voice, posing a question, too muffled to make out the words. Then Roach neighed loudly, panicked, and moments later someone shouted in pain. The pained shout hadn’t been Jaskier, but Geralt was out of bed and through the door by that time already. Something was wrong, very wrong. 

His heart beat in his throat as he bounded down the stairs. They led down into a hallway. The door Jaskier had unbolted to stept outside was still hanging open. Geralt took in the scene that greeted him there and froze.

The open door led to the porch that ran around the courtyard. This deep into the night it was only lit by the moon and a single lantern to accommodate late travellers. Besides Roach there were two other horses in the row of stalls along the wall to the right. There were five more standing to the left, saddled up and waiting in the courtyard.

Two of their riders stood near Roach. One of them was cradling his bleeding hand to his chest. Geralt recognised him as someone who had sent out a message by pigeon earlier today. The other man was looking at Roach like he was terrified to be bitten next, even though Roach was locked behind a stall door and couldn’t come any closer. The man’s fear was not completely unfounded, as Roach was stomping the ground and furiously beating her chest against the wood, trying to break free, her eyes burned with rage.

Geralt followed his horse’s frantic gaze to the others, standing further away, facing the doorway Geralt had rushed out from. Two of them were each holding one of Jaskier’s arms tight enough to bruise. A third one in the middle stood behind Jaskier and was holding a knife to his throat.

“Not a single step more,” the man with the knife said slowly and insistently. He was the second person Geralt recognised. It was the nobleman whose advances Jaskier had recently turned down. The others must be his soldiers. Geralt froze.

“I’m sorry, Geralt,” Jaskier said, looking at him as if they were alone and a scolding from Geralt for going out alone was his only fear right now. “That guy over there told me right after my performance that horses have been stolen at night around here. I didn’t tell you because I thought Roach could look after herself, but I still worried. I had to check when I heard her.” He clenched his jaw and tensed when the movement of his throat seemed to remind him of the presence of the knife. “I’m glad she bit him.”

Jaskier didn’t seem hurt, Geralt was relieved to note, but if that knife was pressed any harder into his skin… His body tensed up, ready to move, but the man holding Jaskier’s life at the edge of his blade tutted at him and shook his head.

“What do you want, Nikolai?” Jaskier bit out. 

“I’ve told you what I was going to do weeks ago,” Nikolai said, a wicked smile on his lips. “You can’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“You-“ Jaskier’s voice cut off when the knife was pressed into his throat hard enough to leave a mark. Nikolai angled the blade and pressed it flat as if he was worried to accidentally cut too deep, but Geralt watched in horror as a drop of red ran down the width of it.

Jaskier was only dressed in his underclothes and boots. His shirt hung open and revealed some of the faint pink marks Geralt’s mouth had left on his skin, evidence of their lovemaking and proof of both passion and tenderness. Jaskier had begged and moaned for every single one and Geralt had still kissed all of them better anyway. This new angry red line on his throat didn’t belong.

“Release him,” Geralt said. “I was the one who almost killed you. Take it out on me.”

Nikolai’s smile grew even wider. “You think I’m stupid, don’t you? Both of you. I know the chances of me beating you in a fight are next to nothing, not even with four of my best men.”

“How would you have me punished?” Geralt asked, trying to sound calm. “A flogging? I won’t struggle if you let him go.”

Jaskier groaned softly and closed his eyes. Maybe the thought of Geralt being flogged pained him, or maybe he would have wanted Geralt to pretend he didn’t care about him, say ‘do what you want to him, the bard means nothing to me’ and watch what happened, even though he knew it probably wouldn’t work. Geralt couldn’t do that.

“I know you won’t!” Nikolai shouted, as if he was losing his patience even quicker than Geralt was. “But I don’t care if you live or die, witcher, I don’t care about adding to your collection of scars. You are nothing to me. Julian here is the one who hurt my feelings.”

“He’ll kill you if you kill me,” Jaskier said, his voice strained but confident. Geralt felt a wave of affection wash over him at that, for Jaskier to have such faith in him even when he was struggling to breathe… But Jaskier also had to know that Geralt would never let him be killed in the first place. Didn’t he?

“Ugh,” Nikolai groaned. “I know. I’ve figured you out. Don’t you see? I’m not as stupid as you think. I don’t care what happens to the witcher, Julian, but I know you do, and I know you somehow trained that beast to care about you as well.”

“I’m sure there are others, prettier, more talented, who will have you and be good for you, why me?” Jaskier tried. His voice miraculously betrayed no emotion, nothing of the shock and fear Geralt saw in his eyes at Nikolai’s words, at the absolute truth of them.

“Because I don’t want another, I want you, well, wanted you,” Nikolai hissed. “I always get what I want.” He reached his free hand around Jaskier’s body and stroked it down his bare chest. “Oh, Julian, I truly wish I had been able to make you realise what kind of life you’re missing out on before your feral wolf ruined it for you.”

Geralt unconsciously took a step forward. Nikolai’s eyes snapped to him. “Stop,” he said. He looked to the man on his right and gave him a nod. The man turned, swung his arm back and punched Jaskier in the stomach, hard.

Jaskier bent double and coughed. Only the fact that the side of the knife was pressed to his throat instead of the edge and that Nikolai moved along with him made that he didn’t cough up blood and died right there.

Geralt clenched and unclenched his fists, tried to calm his wildly beating heart and think.

Jaskier slowly caught his breath and straightened up again. The smile he meant to reassure Geralt with was tight with pain.

“I don’t enjoy hurting you this way, Julian, will you please ask the witcher to stop moving and listen to my instructions?” Nikolai asked sweetly.

Jaskier didn’t ask in what other way Nikolai did enjoy hurting him. He didn’t tell Geralt to do anything either. He just said: “He will do what he wants.” 

Geralt cringed.

Thankfully, Nikolai just laughed and didn’t hurt Jaskier again. He addressed Geralt directly now. “I’ll tell you what you want, witcher. One of my men is going to walk over and hand you a flask. You’ll want to take it calmly and drink it. Touch the man or spill the contents of the flask and Julian dies.”

“He’s bluffing, Geralt,” Jaskier said immediately, a hint of desperation bleeding into his voice. “He won’t kill me. He knows he won’t be able to get away in time. He values his own life too much.”

Nikolai sighed. “Dear Julian, do you really want to play it this way?” He twisted a hand into Jaskier’s hair and pulled his head back forcefully. Then he lowered the knife and pressed the tip of it to the inside of Jaskier’s right underarm. The shallow cut in Jaskier’s neck was bleeding slowly and his chest was heaving as he breathed quickly through his nose, maybe out of fear, maybe to keep himself from giving Nikolai the satisfaction of crying out at how tightly his hair was being pulled. 

Nikolai looked back up at Geralt. His eyes were cold and serious. “Drink the potion, or the bard will never be able to play his lute again. I’m not asking you again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the kudos! I hope you'll enjoy the rest of this!


	4. A Lethal Dose?

One of the men who stood near Roach, not the one she’d bitten, walked over to Geralt and held out a glass flask containing a murky brown liquid. The man was trying not to let his fear show on his face as he approached.

Geralt knew he must look fearsome, shaking with anger despite all his efforts trying to tame his rage. He wouldn’t be fast enough, trying to get to Jaskier before someone hurt him. Roach had given up trying to break free from her stall, exhausted, and couldn’t help him. No one else had shown up, though he was certain people must have woken from the noise. They were probably too afraid. Geralt grabbed the flask out of the man’s clammy hand.

“He’s immune to poison,” Jaskier was saying. “Whatever you’re planning, it won’t work. You’ll just make him angry.”

Geralt didn’t think he could be any angrier than he already was.

“I had my father’s sorceress brew it for this purpose especially,” Nikolai said. “Your witcher won’t be immune, Julian, no witcher is.”

“What is it, Nikolai, fuck, Geralt, don’t drink it, don’t.” Jaskier sounded panicked now, terrified and in pain. Geralt couldn’t bear it.

“You’ll let him go,” Geralt said. He didn’t phrase it as a question, but still looked at Nikolai expectantly.

Nikolai looked into his eyes and then slowly shook his head. Geralt’s heart dropped, but then Nikolai said: “My, my, Julian, he’s absolutely whipped. I knew you were a treasure with hidden talents. It’s most impressive, but I’m growing tired of witnessing his devotion to you.” Jaskier gasped when the point of the knife pierced the skin of his arm, another drop of his blood spilled.

“Don’t.” Geralt growled low. His knuckles turned white as he pressed his fingernails into the palms of his hands.

“Relax,” Nikolai said, and pulled the knife back a bit. “Yes, I’ll release him, witcher. I swear on my honour no further harm will come to him if you do as I say. I never meant to harm him at all, just teach him a lesson. He’ll need to stay alive to learn it. I’ll take your life, I’ll probably take the horse, but Julian will live.”

“Don’t drink it, please, Geralt,” Jaskier begged. “I’m not worth-“

Geralt uncorked the flask and downed the poison - the scent was unfamiliar to him but he was pretty sure it was poison - in a single gulp. It tasted even worse than it looked.

Jaskier was still talking, his head pulled back by his hair so he could only look up at the roof of the porch and the night sky. Geralt couldn’t see him cry, but he heard the tears in his voice. “-it. Please, Geralt, don’t.”

“Too late,” Nikolai said, sweetly, directly into Jaskier’s ear as Geralt was starting to feel the effects of whatever he’d consumed. He watched Jaskier fall to his knees when he was released, saw the horror in his eyes, wet with tears.

The poison worked quickly, quicker than he’d expected. Cold spread through Geralt’s limbs and sapped his strength. He could feel his muscles weaken. “Fuck.” He needed to stay awake, make sure Jaskier was safe, but it felt like his own body was floating away from him.

His senses started fading soon after. He could no longer smell the stench of fear on the man standing closest to him. His vision turned blurry around the edges and Jaskier’s cries sounded muffled, distant.

His knees buckled and he fell, but hardly felt it when he hit the ground. Suddenly, Jaskier was there. His worried face provided an anchor for Geralt to focus his blurry vision on. Jaskier was touching him, talking to him. “Don’t, Geralt, don’t you dare. Stay with me.” Shaking hands cupped Geralt’s face. “I’m here, Geralt, stay, I’m here. What do you need?”

His tongue felt heavy in his mouth, but there was something he needed to tell Jaskier before he couldn’t, he knew there was, but it was hard to think, because his entire body was slowly shutting itself d-

The fog in his mind cleared momentarily as he focused with all his might on a conversation that he was reminded of. 

“I know what this is,” he said. It was not what he meant to say, but it came to him suddenly and seemed equally important. His own voice sounded distant to him, and he could tell he was slurring the words. He needed to think and hurry. How long had it been since he had dropped this Nikolai in the mud outside a Redanian inn?

“Can survive, maybe, need…time.” He could only hope no one other than Jaskier had been close enough to hear. He could no longer see anything. The feeling of Jaskier’s hands on his face faded. He didn’t know if Jaskier was gone or if he just couldn’t sense him anymore. Geralt wanted to reach for him but found couldn’t move.

Maybe he was wrong. Maybe he would never see Jaskier’s smile or feel his warmth again. I love you, he thought, but couldn’t speak. 

Only when he had completely lost control over his body, when he was floating in a black and empty world, did his consciousness start to fade.

The black and empty world was the thing Geralt first woke up to, if you could call it waking. He knew he wasn’t dead, he remembered…only flashes of what happened at first. He remembered Jaskier’s smile, his voice. He couldn’t see or hear or feel anything, but he remembered. 

It took time, he had no way of telling how much, before the first sensations from outside his body started to filter through.

It took even more time before he’d established with some level of certainty that he was lying on his back, maybe half sitting, propped up against soft surface, in a place that smelled of straw, damp earth, and goat.

By the time his eyes were able to register the straw roof above him, Geralt knew for sure that Jaskier wasn’t there.

He’d suspected as much when he hadn’t smelled or heard him or felt his touch, but he’d hoped.

Now he could see, and even though he couldn’t turn his head, he knew, he just knew that if Jaskier were here, his face would be hovering over him, his hands would be touching him, his voice would be in his ears.

A day passed, he could tell now from the faint light filtering through the gaps in the wall. 

Jaskier wasn’t here.

Witchers probably weren’t supposed to experience love. But Geralt loved. He was certain of that now. Even if he never said the words out loud and Jaskier always had to do it for him, Geralt loved and from that love was born a single fear that was so overwhelming he wasn’t even surprised it overruled his witcher training.

Jaskier was so very human, so terrifyingly soft and fragile, and the world was such a dark and dangerous place, that if Geralt let his thoughts dwell on those facts too long, his throat would close up and he’d have trouble breathing.

Jaskier had been alone with that snake Nikolai and his men when Geralt succumbed to the effects of the poison. Nikolai had promised to let him go, but Nikolai wasn’t a trustworthy person.

Geralt didn’t know where he was, or who had brought him here. If Jaskier did, why had he left again? 

Nikolai had threatened to take Roach. Geralt hoped with all his heart that Jaskier wasn’t stupid enough to go after him for that. He very well might be, without Geralt to talk sense into him. Jaskier would yell at him, shouting it wasn’t stupid to care for Roach. Geralt would agree, but argue it wasn’t worth his life. 

Geralt would miss her too, but they could get another Roach. No one had ever had any say in Geralt’s pick of horses but himself, but he knew he’d only pick a horse Jaskier got along with from now on. Maybe they should even get Jaskier his own horse. It was only practical. They would be able to move at the same pace and Jaskier might whine less if he was comfortable.

No. It wouldn’t be because it was practical. It would be because Geralt loved Jaskier, because he wanted him to be happy when they traveled together.

If they would ever travel together again.

It was raining outside. He could hear droplets hitting the roof and in the distance the rushing sound of what sounded like wind and rain moving leaves on trees all around him. The air smelled damp. Geralt still couldn’t move.

He thought about Jaskier, worried, and only when the realisation of how much he missed him became too much, he thought about himself.

He’d heard of a poison strong enough to kill a witcher. There were more than one, but there was one in particular that made one lose control over their body, block their senses, make them lose consciousness and finally, if he remembered correctly, stop their heart.

At first he couldn’t remember where he’d heard about it, but he had plenty of time to think now. Hadrien might have mentioned it at some point. Hadrien’s knowledge of herbs and potions exceeded Geralt’s by far. They traded sometimes, two minds hungry for knowledge, potions and their effects for Geralt’s knowledge of and experience with the contents of the bestiary, much like they traded ingredients for coin.

Yes, that must be it, Hadrien had said his Golden Oriole could make him immune to almost any poison, though obviously not Verlam.

Geralt had asked him what Verlam did and Hadrien had explained. He, wonderfully pedantic as he was, hadn’t failed to mention that it was extremely difficult to brew and took at least one lunar phase to complete and reach its full potential, but spoiled within three days after bottling.

Nikolai couldn’t have had a flask of it lying around just in case he ever developed a grudge against a witcher’s lover, and his sorceress wouldn’t have had enough time to complete the poison before one of his scouts warned him of Jaskier’s presence at a Temerian inn. 

Nikolai seemed exactly like the kind of idiotic lord to ignore sound advise from his sorceress, or scare her into telling him exactly what he wanted to hear, whether it was true or not.

Either way, Geralt’s heart obviously hadn’t stopped beating, or at least not long enough.

Geralt was sure he’d remembered this vital bit of information before he’d lost the ability to speak. He’d hoped that even if there was no antidote, because if Hadrien didn’t know of it there simply wasn’t, maybe the poison was weak enough that it wouldn’t kill him, that his trained body might fight it and recover. He’d tried to communicate this to Jaskier.

But Jaskier wouldn’t have left him if he’d known Geralt was still alive and there was a chance of him waking up, would he? 

Maybe Jaskier had simply given up hope that Geralt would ever wake up. Geralt had no way of telling how long the world had been black to him. It could have been days, but also weeks. He didn’t think it had been months, because while he felt weak and hungry, his body hadn’t starved.

It was strange that he didn’t feel thirsty. But maybe that was a side effect of the poison?

Hadrien hadn’t mentioned if Verlam had any lingering effects should you survive it. He probably hadn’t heard of anyone ever surviving it. Geralt had already established that his heart was beating and his lungs still worked. He could feel pain in the form of a fierce headache and a sore back. He knew his consciousness had returned before his senses did, and that his muscles still refused to move even now.

He didn’t know how permanent this would be. He didn’t know if he’d ever move or walk again.

Geralt slept a while. When he woke up he still couldn’t move.

The touch of something soft and wet to his lips startled him. Cool moisture slowly dripped into his mouth and his body ached with relief. Whoever was holding the rag to his lips carefully fed him more water, practised, like they’d done this before. Geralt wanted to be able to turn his head to see if it was Jaskier, but at the same time he didn’t.

The person’s scent was wrong, sweet, but more like pastry than flowers, like baked bread and laundry soap. They smelled like a woman. She stayed a long time, waiting carefully for his body to swallow before she gave him more. She must have noticed his eyes were open, but never showed herself in his field of vision. Geralt heard her leave.

Someone was taking care of him, but it wasn’t Jaskier.

In case Jaskier hadn’t been captured or worse by Nikolai, hadn’t gone off to save Roach, and hadn’t thought Geralt dead, where was he?

The only other option, both the least and the most terrifying, was that Jaskier had simply left him. Geralt knew Jaskier was definitely not attracted to Nikolai, but one day there might be someone else, someone with a similar title who could offer Jaskier both protection and luxury, who’d know how to say all the right things. 

Geralt didn’t know if that was something Jaskier wanted for himself. He didn’t know if Jaskier had thought his life with Geralt was enough for him, or if he thought of it as a temporary affair. He hadn’t known how to ask, or if he should.

Geralt was startled awake by a noise. His environment was lighter than he had gotten used to, as if someone had opened a door and sunlight was streaming in.

A little boy’s face, round and innocent, appeared at the edge of his vision, hovering above him. His short hair was black, and his eyes a startling blue. Jaskier’s were greyer, but Geralt was reminded of him all the same. It didn’t take much for his thoughts to drift back to Jaskier.

Geralt thought he was dreaming for a moment, then decided he wasn’t. The boy didn’t seem familiar, but the roof behind him agonisingly so.

“You’re awake,” the boy said. His big innocent eyes were staring. He couldn’t be older than ten.

Geralt stared back, blinked, and continued staring. It was all he could do.

The boy figured it out surprisingly quickly. “You can’t talk? That’s okay. Your friend said you were going to be just fine. He was crying, but he said it a lot, so it must be true.”

_Where is my friend, was he hurt, is he safe?_ Geralt wanted to shout, but the boy didn’t know that.

“Nana has told me many stories about you. Father says I must be careful and not get too close to you, but Nana says you’re a good person, so I know you are.”

Geralt blinked.

How much had changed in the short time since Jaskier had started singing about him that old women were telling their grandchildren Geralt of Rivia was a good person?

“I’m Milan,” the boy said, “son of Mirek. Father’s father was also a Milan, but I don’t really remember him. My nana’s name is Jana. That rhymes. She says she knows you.” He looked at Geralt expectantly.

Geralt blinked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't like separating them, but I keep doing it? It is for the greater good though. Geralt is making new friends and learning something. It will be okay. *cries*


	5. A New Friend

Geralt knew a Jana, a leatherworker’s widow in Bellmare. This explained a few things, but most importantly that it was Jaskier who had taken him somewhere safe. Only Jaskier would have brought him to Jana’s relatives. Jaskier was… had been, alive to do that. Geralt desperately wanted to know more, but Milan seemed to remember that Geralt couldn’t talk back and chatted on. 

Geralt had no way of directing his near constant flow of words. He resigned himself to listening and trying to filter useful information from it.

“Nana wanted to look after you in her house in the village, but your friend said we had to hide you, because people need to think you are dead. Father didn’t want to, but Nana shouted at him and now you’re in our goat shed,” Milan explained cheerfully. “Don’t worry. The goat won’t eat your hair. The weather is nice so she can stay outside until you’re better, Mother said so. Father says I shouldn’t go close to you, but Mother doesn’t mind, and when I have to go outside to breathe they don’t watch me all the time anyway. Do you want to be my friend?”

Geralt learned some things about Milan, but frustratingly little about Jaskier.

Milan’s father worked in the village, but they lived outside of it, near the forest, for reasons that had something to do with Milan’s health. This goat shed was even further from the village, at the edge of a clearing in the forest. Milan sometimes came out here to breathe in the fresh air, which seemed a strange hobby for a child.

“I have to go,” Milan suddenly said, and disappeared. 

Shortly after he left, the woman who was probably his mother returned to let Geralt drink some clear broth. Geralt caught a glimpse of her from the corner of his eye this time. She had Milan’s eyes but lighter hair. She gave him a shy smile when she saw him watching her and quickly disappeared again.

Geralt had just discovered he was able to turn his head when Milan returned again.

“You can move!” the boy shouted happily.

Geralt slowly shook his head.

“You can move a little,” Milan corrected.

“Still no talk?” the way Milan tilted his head was a sight Jaskier would have cooed over and called adorable.

Geralt found he could move his mouth and tried. “Jaskier?” he croaked. His tongue was dry and his voice sounded raspy, but he could finally talk. 

Milan seemed absolutely elated at this.

“That’s your friend! He’s not here right now, but he would be really proud of me. He told me to look after you. I did, and now you can talk!”

Geralt didn’t think Milan had much to do with that at all, but he didn’t mention it. “Where is he?”

Milan frowned. “He had to go do something. I don’t know. Oh! He told me to tell you sorry he took your horse. He left your swords and a saddle bag though, they’re right here.” He pointed at a spot behind Geralt’s head.

“Roach was with him?” Geralt asked. It was a relief that Jaskier wasn’t alone. Milan nodded.

“Was he okay?”

Milan contemplated that question much longer than Geralt would have liked. “He wasn’t bleeding…a lot?” Milan answered like he was asking a question. It was quite possibly the least reassuring he could have been.

“You said earlier that he was crying. Why was he crying?”

Milan now looked at him like he thought Geralt was an idiot. “Because you were not moving, obviously.”

“Did he think I was dead?”

Milan drew his tiny eyebrows together. “No. He said you were going to be okay a hundred times and asked Nana to look after you. I’ve told you that already.”

A little hand brushed Geralt’s hair to the side and touched his forehead. “Do you have a fever? I don’t know how my mother can tell when she does this. Are you okay?”

“I don’t have a fever,” Geralt said patiently. He wasn’t good with children. How did anyone ever get any useful information out of one? Maybe it just wasn’t possible.

“Good,” Milan said. He picked up something he’d dropped on the floor in his enthusiasm when he walked in and started unwrapping what seemed to be a piece of bread.

“My mother found out I was here this morning. She told me if I was going to go anyway I could give you some milk. I brought this for myself, but maybe you can eat now?”

Geralt’s stomach growled. He really wanted to ask more about Jaskier, but for now he let Milan feed him pieces of bread and drank some goat’s milk from a bottle the boy clumsily held to his lips. 

Geralt nearly drowned in the process, but being able to turn his head to the side now came in handy when coughing up milk. He reassured Milan that he was alright and thanked him. The boy beamed a bright smile at that. Maybe Geralt could learn to be better with children.

“Don’t pee yet,” Milan said. “I don’t want to change the straw, straw dust makes me choke. And I don’t want to wash you.” He made a face.

Geralt didn’t have control over his lower body at all. “I’ll try,” he said.

Milan was shaking his head now and didn’t seem to hear him. “No, I can do it, I’m a big boy. Your friend told me to look after you. Father says it’s shameful to let my mother do it, but he won’t even do it himself.”

“I’m sorry to inconvenience you and your family,” Geralt said.

Milan smiled widely. “I don’t mind. I get to see Nana smack Father when he’s saying stupid things. He deserves it sometimes.”

They were drifting further and further away from the topic Geralt wanted to talk about.

“My friend,” he said. “You call him that, but he’s more than a friend to me. I really need to know where he is. Did he say anything at all to you?”

“More than a friend?” Milan cocked his head to the side. “Are you married.”

Geralt groaned. “No, but can you tell me-“

“Are you engaged?”

“You-“ Geralt closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Yes, we are, now will you tell me where he is?”

“Congratulations!” Milan said cheerfully. “I don’t know, he didn’t tell me anything, just to look after you.”

The next day, Geralt could lift his head.

He hated this. It was good that his body made some progress still, but it was infuriatingly slow. How much longer would he be stuck in this shed, forced to listen to the ramblings of a child?

Milan’s mother had come back last night to wash him and massage warmth into his limbs. Geralt had thanked her and asked her about Jaskier as well, but she didn’t know any more than her son and they had both been too embarrassed to speak more.

The silence that surrounded him was stifling. He had been annoyed by Milan yesterday, but today he was almost relieved to hear his quick footsteps approach on the grass.

Milan threw open the door and bounded through, face flushed and breathing fast.

“How much can you move now?” he asked, breathless with excitement.

“Just my head,” Geralt said.

Milan deflated. “You could already do that yesterday.”

“I couldn’t lift it up like this.” Geralt demonstrated.

Milan dropped down on the wooden crate he used as a chair. He looked disappointed, but his breathing didn’t slow down.

“I thought if you could move your arms you could teach me some witcher moves.” He held out a small wooden sword.

“You wield a sword with your whole body, not just your arms,” Geralt said.

Milan looked even more disappointed. His chest made a wheezing sound when he breathed.

“Are you okay?” Geralt asked.

Milan’s face had gone pale in the short time he’d been here. “Happens-“ wheeze “-sometimes.” He said. “Ran-“ wheeze “-too fast.”

Geralt wanted to sit up and do… something… to help the boy.

“Mother-“ wheeze “-talks to-“ wheeze “-me.” Milan looked at him with big pleading eyes. Geralt understood the need for him to calm down to slow his breathing, but he wasn’t good at talking, didn’t know how to distract a little boy. He didn’t have Jaskier’s soothing voice or his way with words.

“I don’t-“ he said. “I don’t know what to talk about.”

Milan didn’t say anything. He squeezed his eyes shut. His chest heaved with the effort to draw in enough air.

Geralt spoke about the first thing that came to mind. “My friend,” he started.

Milan’s eyes opened and focused on him.

“His name is Jaskier. It’s actually Julian, but he hates when I call him that. He has a great singing voice, but don’t tell him I said that. Have you heard him sing?”

Milan shook his head. “Mother-“ wheeze “-has.”

“Don’t talk, breathe,” Geralt said. “You’d like it. Maybe you not all of his songs are suitable for you until you’re older though.”

Geralt found it was easier to talk when his conversation partner didn’t flood the whole room with words in return. Milan’s eyes were on him, attentive and full of trust. They still reminded him of Jaskier somewhat.

“I love him,” he said out loud to his own surprise. “And I’m worried about him. A bad man poisoned me because he knew it would hurt him. I don’t know what else that man might be planning.”

Milan’s breathing slowed down a bit, but his face now mirrored Geralt’s worry.

“The most probable reason I can think of why he left me here is because he wants to take revenge. Jaskier isn’t skilled with a sword, but he is skilled with words.”

“How can you-“ quick breath “-fight with words?” Milan asked. The colour was starting to return to his face.

“He once told me about something that happened years ago,” Geralt said, “when someone had cheat- had broken his heart and humiliated him, and he wrote the ugliest, meanest songs about that person and sung them everywhere. After a few weeks that person begged him to stop, because they were not only losing respect but also money and land, because nobody wanted to be associated with them anymore.”

Milan was breathing steadily again. He looked exited. “Is he going to sing mean songs about the bad man?”

“I hope not,” Geralt said. “This man is very powerful. Jaskier won’t be able to hide from him for long, especially if he sings at places where people gather. His soldiers will find him and capture or kill him long before the message of his songs spreads enough to do much harm.”

“We need to stop him!” Milan exclaimed. “I’ll ask Nana if she knows where he went.”

“Don’t run,” Geralt warned him, “walk slowly.” Milan nodded dutifully.

Geralt turned his head to resume his staring at the roof. The damned silence returned around him. Geralt decided that when Milan came back, he’d teach him some breathing techniques he learned when training to fight. They might benefit the boy in some way.

**seven days earlier**

Jaskier hugged Geralt’s unresponsive body close. He’d dragged him into an empty stall, where the straw was softer and warmer to lie on than the packed dirt outside, but didn’t know what else to do.

Nikolai and his men were gone. They had taken Roach. She had struggled, but had been too exhausted to break free.

Jaskier had forced himself to stop crying and listened for Geralt’s heartbeat when they were out of sight. He had nearly cried again with relief when he found it. 

Geralt didn’t respond to anything he said, not even when he threatened to just leave him here if he didn’t wake up. Jaskier had even pressed a soft kiss to his slack mouth like he believed in destiny and fairytales.

He’d sat by Geralt’s side like this for a long time, possibly hours, when he heard the distant sound of hooves approaching on the road. The sun was rising and people where waking up. A maid had passed the open door to their stall on her way to fetch water, but they hadn’t been spotted yet.

Jaskier watched, warily, for the approaching horse.

He jumped to his feet when he recognised Roach. She didn’t slow down but started running around the courtyard, panicked. She jumped and neighed and didn’t seem to recognise him when he stepped out.

“Woah,” Jaskier slowly walked towards her with raised his arms and tried to get her to stop jumping around. It took some coaxing before it felt safe to get closer. He gently touched his hands to her head.

“Shhh, calm down girl, it’s me, I’m here, I’m okay. What happened to you?”

Roach couldn’t answer his question, but Jaskier didn’t need her to. In the faint light of the rising sun he could see the blood around her mouth and on her hooves and legs and Jaskier didn’t think any of it was hers.

“You’re a war horse now, are you?” he said. “How many of them did you get?”

Roach snorted.

“You’re proud of it, too, aren’t you? Geralt should tie spikes to your harness and have you kill the monsters for him.” Jaskier’s throat closed up when he thought about Geralt.

He led Roach to where the witcher was still lying motionless on the ground and knelt down, pressing the side of his head to Geralt’s chest again.

“His heart is still beating, Roach,” he said. “But it’s so slow. You know him longer than me, is this normal?”

Roach lowered her head and breathed on Geralt’s chest, her soft nose next to Jaskier’s. She moved up to Geralt’s face, nudged it and accidentally left a smear of blood on his jaw.

Jaskier sat up, determined. “They might come back now that you’ve escaped. Look after Geralt while I grab our things from the room. Will you help me move him somewhere safe?”

**present**

“Witcher,” a familiar voice greeted him. Geralt turned his head.

Jana hadn’t changed much. She glared at him. She hadn’t changed a bit.

“Where is Jaskier,” he asked her.

“You’re welcome,” she said. “We are risking the wrath of the earl of Balgara by keeping you hidden.”

“I’m sorry. Thank you.”

Jana shrugged. “Oh well, don’t know the rich bastard anyway, and his son sounds awful. No, I don’t know where Jaskier is.”

Geralt’s hope shattered. If no one knew where he went, there was no way of getting a message to him.

“I’ve heard about him, though.”

Geralt perked up. He could move his shoulders now, hopefully not long before he would be able to use his arms now.

Jana came closer and gently pressed a cup to Geralt’s lips. “Drink, you must be thirsty.” Geralt obediently sipped at the water. He remembered with immense gratitude that Jana was the reason Jaskier was still alive at all.

“I’ve been asking and listening for news about you two from travellers at the inn for a long time, just out of curiosity. These days several tradesmen come to my house for a drink or some stew when they’ve heard something new, especially when the cook at the inn is busier with her lovers than with cooking, which is often” she explained.

It made sense that Jana had been keeping track of Jaskier, fond of him as she was.

“Did you know the earl of Balgara has grown tired of his son’s orgy filled lifestyle and is forcing him to get married?”

Geralt shook his head and she tutted at him to keep still as she started spooning her thick stew into his mouth.

“The old man has granted his spoiled brat complete freedom in his choice of a spouse, rich or poor, man or woman, as long as he either impregnates them or adopts one of his bastards with them and raises an heir.”

Geralt thought wryly about Jaskier’s mocking ‘do you think I want to run off with him and have his babies’, but quickly dismissed that train of thought. No, Jaskier just hadn’t known. He wouldn’t.

“He seems to have taken a liking to our bard,” Jana said.

“Jaskier insulted him by refusing,” Geralt said. “He won’t have him now.”

“I don’t know about that,” Jana said. “Jaskier has been going around taverns and inns singing about the man.”

Geralt’s heart skipped a beat. This was exactly what he’d been afraid of.

“He’s praising him,” Jana added, “singing about what a fool he’s been to ever turn the man down.”

“What?” This was not what Geralt had expected.

“From what I’ve heard, all of his songs are about the immeasurable strength and courage of Nikolai de Balgara. He seems to adore the man. If I didn’t know any better I’d say this marriage is something he’s actively aiming for.”

“But you know better,” Geralt said. He didn’t know why he sounded desperate. “Jaskier can’t stand him.”

“I’m sure he doesn’t mean it, darling,” Jana said. She stroked a hand through Geralt’s hair like he was a child. “But I’m afraid we can’t ask him about it. I’m sorry I don’t know where he is.”

Geralt needed time to process this information. “Will you tell me when there’s news?” he asked.

“Of course,” Jana said. She put the empty bowl and cup back in her basket. “If my son ever comes here and is rude to you, don’t listen to him.”

Geralt thought it was a strange request, but he nodded. 

Jana sighed. “That boy has a stick up his arse about our bard ever since his wife fell for his charms back when he was staying at the inn. She’s never actually been unfaithful, mind you. I see no harm in letting the woman dream a little.”

“Hmm.” Geralt watched Jana leave.

“Jaskier, where are you?” he asked the silence she left behind. 

It didn’t answer.


	6. A Sorceress

During the following days, Geralt regained the use of his arms and upper body and heard about what Jaskier was doing from Jana, often through Milan. Jaskier seemed to be traveling around Redania, praising Nikolai in his songs like he used to do for Geralt. Geralt was glad to hear Jaskier was alive, but he did not understand.

“Someone heard him sing that whoever marries the Snake will be the luckiest person in the world. What is he doing?” Milan exclaimed. He’d heard Geralt refer to Nikolai as a snake literally one time and hadn’t called him anything else since.

“I don’t know,” Geralt said.

“He’s also singing about a sorceress. Nana said she knows her too. My nana knows so many interesting people.” The boy glowed with pride.

“What is he singing about the sorceress?” Geralt asked.

“Mean things,” Milan said. “That she stinks and has a big nose and too many wrinkles to count. Do you think he’s got the Snake and the witch confused?”

“No…” Geralt frowned. There had to be something seriously wrong with Jaskier’s head if he had Yennefer confused with Nikolai, but it wasn’t a good idea to provoke her like this. Jaskier knew that. What was he planning?

“Why hasn’t he visited us yet?” Milan asked. “He’s engaged to you. He should come back to take care of you.”

“I’m sure he has his reasons,” Geralt said.

“His reasons are singing songs about the Snake and the Sorceress? That sounds stupid. I don’t know why you all like him so much.”

“He’s not stupid,” Geralt said. “He can act like he is. He’s very good at that, but he’s not actually… Never mind. Let’s stop talking about him.”

Geralt looked away, but he heard when Milan’s breathing sped up. 

Alarmed, he turned his head back, sat up a little straighter and reached for him to lay a comforting arm on his shoulder. “Remember the exercise I showed you?”

“Doesn’t work,” Milan wheezed.

“You should try to calm down on your own. What do you normally do if there’s nobody to talk to you? Your mother can’t be there all the time.” Geralt tried to sound both comforting and strict, because he found that yielded the best results with Milan.

“But why-“ wheeze “-is he not stupid?” The boy’s small body trembled under Geralt’s hand with every breath.

“Shh, okay, I’ll talk,” Geralt said. “He’s planning something, but I don’t know what. I don’t believe he truly wants to marry the Sn- Nikolai Zagata, but he seems to be trying to win his favour again.”

“Why-“ wheeze “-though?” 

“Maybe he believes he needs to find an antidote to save me and Nikolai is the only one who knows which poison I drank. He might try to charm that information out of him, or even plan to offer himself in marriage in exchange for it.” The words left a sour taste in Geralt’s mouth.

Milan seemed similarly disgusted by that idea. “Don’t let him marry the Snake to save you!” he exclaimed. “You’re fine.”

Geralt couldn’t move his legs yet, but his body seemed to be healing still, so yes, he probably would be fine. “We know that, but Jaskier doesn’t.” He raised an eyebrow. “What happened to your breathing?”

Milan’s cheeks flushed bright pink. “I’m okay,” he said. At Geralt’s questioning look he continued, staring down at his feet: “I was okay the whole time. I just wanted to know what you were thinking.” He looked up and stared at Geralt defiantly. “You don’t talk enough.”

The accusation made Geralt forget his anger at being deceived. 

“I don’t,” he said solemnly.

“It’s okay,” Milan quickly said. “I know I can be annoying. I’m sorry. You don’t have to talk to me. Save it for your friend, if he comes back to marry you like he should.” He turned to leave, shoulders hunched. He looked like a kicked puppy.

Geralt didn’t think the boy was aware the word fiancé existed, but since he wasn’t actually engaged to Jaskier, he didn’t feel the need to teach him. Maybe he should tell him the truth some day. Maybe later.

“No, wait.”

Milan turned back to him with big hopeful eyes.

“It’s not just you,” Geralt said. “I don’t talk enough to Jaskier either. I’ve…never actually told him I love him.”

“What?” Milan all but shouted. “How can you get married when he doesn’t even know you love him? No wonder he’s going after the Snake. It’s your own fault!”

“He does know I love him,” Geralt said defensively, more to himself than to Milan. “I just thought…I thought that was enough, but maybe it isn’t. Maybe you’re right. Someone like Nikolai can offer him things I never could.”

There was a long silence between them.

“Maybe you’re the stupid one,” Milan said.

The crowd loved him tonight. Jaskier had discovered that singing the praises of literally anyone other than a witcher meant a huge popularity boost for him. It was ridiculous really. These people were so bent on hating something they were told to fear by superstition, when the real monster owned the very land they lived on.

He safely stored his lute in its leather case and swung it over his shoulder. He wondered if he should stay here one more night or move on. Maybe he’d ask Roach, let her decide. He could use some fresh air anyway.

He’d only just wandered outside when an invisible force pushed him back and pinned him to the nearest wall. It knocked the breath out of him, but he was relieved his lute had swung to the side and wasn’t crushed behind his back.

“You found me,” he said, even though he couldn’t see anyone or hear anything other than the muffled sound of people getting drunk inside and the quiet of the night around him.

He blinked and suddenly Yennefer was right next to him, so close her breath brushed his cheek when she spoke.

“When I heard the insults attached to my name I didn’t believe you had the balls, so I came to listen to this song of yours myself.”

The invisible force increased in strength. Jaskier’s entire body was being squeezed so hard he feared his bones would start snapping soon.

“If your aim was to insult me, you have succeeded,” Yennefer said. “Give me one very good reason not to kill you right now.”

“I will start singing I’ve been a blind fool and you’re the prettiest being to ever walk the earth,” Jaskier quickly answered.

Yennefer contemplated that for a moment. “Why would you risk your life by angering me?”

Jaskier was struggling to breathe now. The pressure on his chest eased a bit so he could answer. “I didn’t know how to find you and I didn’t know any other way to get you to find me.”

Yennefer sighed. “I was worried that might be it. No actual death wish then?”

Jaskier shook his head.

“How boring.” She took a step back. The threatening tone left her voice. “Well, you’ve found me. What do you want.”

“Geralt…” Jaskier swallowed and looked away.

Yennefer raised a hand and forced his head back in her direction. “Are you crying, bard?” There was no point in denying it. Jaskier just looked at her, fearing her next question.

She frowned. “I noticed one of your stupid songs were about him tonight. Is he…dead?”

Jaskier tried to look as confident as possible with eyes brimming with tears. He would absolutely hate for her to tease him about this later. “I don’t know. He might be by now. He was very badly poisoned when I left him.”

Yennefer looked genuinely shocked by that for a moment, then she closed her eyes and sighed deeply. “Oh for fuck’s sake. Don’t you two have anything better to do than get in trouble and come running to me for help? Who am I? Your nursemaid?” She rolled her eyes. “Let me guess, you want me to cure him or possibly raise him from the dead and you’ll give me anything I want in return.”

“No,” Jaskier said, shaking his head. She was still holding his chin. Her sharp fingernails dug into his skin.

“No?” Yennefer let him go. The invisible force pinning him to the wall dissolved. “Did I hear that right?”

“I want something else,” Jaskier told her.

“Is there any news?” was the first thing Geralt asked every day when Milan entered the shed.

“Can you show me to use a sword yet?” Milan always replied.

“No.”

“He’s getting married tomorrow.”

Geralt pulled his legs over the edge of his makeshift bed and pushed himself up on his arms so he could sit. Milan sat down on his crate. 

“Who? Who is getting married?”

“The Snake.” Milan started unwrapping the food his mother or grandmother had given him to give to Geralt.

“Who is he marrying?”

Milan shrugged. “I don’t know. No, wait…” After thinking for a while he shook his head. “No, I don’t know.”

“Milan,” Geralt admonished.

“Right, I know, get the things right in my head before I tell you anything. I really don’t know who though, Nana didn’t say.”

“The person who passed on this information must have seen an announcement, an invitation, something like that.”

“Maybe it’s a secret.”

“I don’t think-“ Geralt turned his head to listen. “There’s someone outside,” he said quietly. “It’s not your mother or grandmother.” 

The footsteps were heavier.

Milan gave him a frightened wide eyed look, then whispered: “I’ll distract them, you hide.”

“I can’t,” Geralt said in his normal voice. He still couldn’t walk or even crawl, there was no use in hiding or trying to run. “Get behind me.”

“Milan! Are you in there?” a male voice called from outside.

Milan paled. “It’s my father. He told me not to come here.”

Geralt could hear the boy’s heartbeat and quick breathing. He sounded like a frightened rabbit. Geralt frowned. “Milan, time your breaths.”

A man appeared in the doorway. “I knew it,” he said angrily. “Don’t you ever listen to me?”

Milan placed the food he’d brought on the floor by Geralt’s feet and turned around.

The man’s angry face crumpled at the sight of his frightened son. He sighed. “Come on.” He held out his hand. “I know you’re always bored and it’s tempting to come here. I won’t punish you. But I’ve lost my mother and wife to the charms of the bard, I’m not losing my son to the witcher.”

Milan didn’t come to him, so his father stepped forward and grabbed his hand to pull him along. Milan opened his mouth to protest, but all they heard was the wheezing sound of his lungs struggling to draw air. His father sank to his knees in front of him, looking worried.

“I’ll carry you.” He held out his arms.

“Milan,” Geralt said. “Breathe carefully, remember what I taught you.”

Milan turned back to him with pleading eyes.

Geralt shook his head. “If your father doesn’t want you here you should listen to him, he’s your father, stop panicking.”

Milan gave him a wounded look.

“I’ll miss you too,” Geralt said, “but you’ll be fine, and I’ll be able to walk out of here in no time.”

Milan’s breathing gradually slowed and steadied.

Relieved, Geralt looked over at the man behind him. “Thank you for allowing me to stay here, I’ll repay you when I’m able to.”

The man didn’t look at him. He was staring at his son. “No payment necessary,” he said eventually. He sighed. “Milan?”

Milan lowered his head and turned around.

“You can stay a little longer if you want, just make sure you’re back home in time for dinner.”

Milan jumped at his father and threw his arms around his neck for a hug. “Thank you!” He looked over his shoulder and smiled at Geralt.

Geralt smiled back.

“Do you think I will ever be able to fight like you?” Milan asked.

Geralt didn’t answer him immediately. “I don’t know,” he said truthfully.

“Father says I have to be careful and not do anything dangerous all my life, but Nana says I’ve only got one life and I should do with it what I want. Mother hopes my lungs will grow stronger when I get older.”

Milan rested his chin on his arms. He was lying on his stomach on the grass, watching Geralt, who lay on his back nearby, warming up in the sunlight after scrubbing himself clean with icy water from the well which Milan had carried all the way here from his house in a heavy wooden bucket.

“You’re strong for your age,” Geralt said.

“Only when I go slow.” Milan pouted. “I can’t breathe when I try to go faster.”

“Then go slow, figure out what works for you.”

“What if my enemy uses my weakness against me?”

“Don’t tell your enemy you have a weakness.”

“But what if they find out?” Milan sighed. “You don’t have a weakness, that’s easy.”

Geralt looked at him. “Do you really think I would be here, recovering from poison, if I didn’t have a weakness?”

Milan frowned and seemed to think about that.

“You learn to live with your weakness, work with it. Sometimes a weakness can become a strength. You have used yours against me already, fooled me into thinking you needed help just to get me to talk.”

Milan looked at him with bright happy eyes. “I can fool my enemy into thinking I’m weak when I’m not!”

“Hmm. You’ll never know if you will or will not be able to do something unless you try. If it doesn’t work, try something else.”

Milan’s face lit up even more. “I’ll try!”

“Move! Fuck!” Geralt glared daggers at his legs. He had started pulling his body to the other side of the clearing and back after Milan left, hoping the movement would somehow trigger his legs into obeying him. He gritted his teeth and pushed himself until his arms burned and the hair framing his face was damp with sweat. His legs dragged uselessly behind him.

When he finally gave up he told himself it was because it was disrespectful of him to drag the clothes Milan’s mother had kindly washed for him through the damp grass, like he hadn’t been doing just that all this time.

Back in the shed, he lay down on his back on the floor and stared at the roof.

Jaskier might have gotten himself into trouble somehow by now. He always did. Geralt needed to be there if Jaskier needed him.

Every time Milan left the damned silence surrounding him weighed on Geralt like a heavy blanket. There were sounds, of course, the wind in the trees, birds singing and a grazing goat dragging around the rope that kept it from wandering off.

Those sounds had been enough for him, before. Geralt had hated the noise of people, but somewhere along the way the sound of Jaskier’s voice had grown on him so much it left him with an aching feeling of emptiness in its absence.

The way his skin crawled suddenly was the only warning someone was watching him. 

Geralt pushed himself up to a sitting position and looked through the open door. The clearing seemed empty all the way up to the edge of the trees, but there was a shadow to the right of the door, where sunlight would usually be streaming though the gaps between the planks. 

“Who’s there?”

“The goat. I want my shed back.”

“Yennefer?”

“Geralt.” Yennefer stepped into view and looked him over. “I’ve seen you look better.”

“Just tell me I look like shit.”

“You look like shit,” Yennefer said. She looked around the shed, pulled up her nose at the lack of furniture suited to her taste and settled for draping her coat over Milan’s crate and sitting on it as if she where perching on the edge of a golden throne.

She looked down at him. Geralt didn’t enjoy the way he was sitting on the ground at her feet, but he disliked the idea of dragging himself up onto his bed in his clumsy undignified way with his body only half obeying him in front of her even more. 

“But I guess it could be worse,” Yennefer continued. “Your bard thought you might be dead.”

“Have you seen Jaskier? Where is he?”

Yennefer made a show of inspecting her nails to stall and annoy him. “Cala, the capital city of Balgara, probably. There’s a wedding tonight, haven’t you heard?” She looked around. “My bad. I guess you don’t get much traffic here.”

“I’ve heard,” Geralt said through gritted teeth. “Is it him?”

Yennefer raised her eyebrows. “Is what who?”

Even worse than sitting at her feet like a dog, Geralt hated that Yennefer had possibly actually spoken to Jaskier recently and he hadn’t. He looked down at his useless legs. “Is Jaskier getting married?”


	7. A Furious Bard

Yennefer went very quiet. Geralt looked up at her. She was staring at him in what looked like complete disbelief. 

“Is that really what you think?”

Geralt breathed out a sigh of relief at the heavily implied answer to his question. “He isn’t?”

“No!” She looked ready to slap him in the face now. Geralt recognised that look. He’d seen it a couple of times before. “Of course not. He’ll be providing the entertainment. He’s been invited as a guest of honour because of all the pretty songs he’s been singing lately.”

Had getting invited to the wedding been Jaskier’s goal? To what purpose? “Did you speak to him? Does he really think me dead?”

“He hopes you’re not,” Yennefer said. “He just doesn’t know. You’ve really got him worried.” She looked him over. “What have you gotten yourself into this time anyway?”

Geralt grimaced. “Drank a lethal dose of Verlam.”

“The fuck, Geralt.” Yennefer kneeled by his side and place a hand on his chest. Geralt felt a tingling sensation as her magic washed over him. “How on earth did you survive that?”

“It wasn’t brewed properly, not strong enough. My body is still fighting off the effects. I’ve not regained control over my legs yet. How is Jaskier?”

“Remarkable,” Yennefer muttered. She pulled her hand back. “I can’t help you with this, sorry, poisoned mutated witcher bodies are beyond me.”

“Jaskier?” Geralt repeated.

She waved her hand dismissively. “Oh, the bard’s fine, probably.”

“Why probably?” Geralt grabbed her arm as she started to move away. “What is he planning? Is he in danger?”

“I’m here to deliver a message he asked me to pass on to you. I would if you’d let go of me.”

Geralt immediately released her. “What is it?”

Yennefer sighed. “Hold on. Let me just…” She lightly touched the tips of her fingers to Geralt’s temple. “Close your eyes.”

Geralt hated having magic poke around in his head, but if it was somehow necessary to receiving a message from Jaskier, he could endure it. He closed his eyes.

The world went dark for a moment, but then immediately brightened again. He was still in the shed that had grown frustratingly familiar to him, but the person bent over him wasn’t Yennefer. 

Jaskier was smiling down at him with that look of adoration in his eyes that Geralt had never figured out how to deal with except by looking away.

But he wasn’t even looking. His eyes were still closed.

Jaskier leaned in close and Geralt could smell him. Jaskier smelled so good, sweet and floral but also earthy and often tangy from sweat, which was the scent that turned Geralt on the most. Why hadn’t Geralt be the one to tell him that? Why hadn’t he corrected Nikolai and told Jaskier that actually, comparing him to a flower was stupid, because he smelled so much better, he was so much more than that?

The touch of Jaskier’s lips to his was achingly familiar. The kiss was brief but passionate, a rush of love and affection, and Geralt simply let himself be swept up in it.

Jaskier pulled back and Geralt missed him instantly. The taste of him lingered on his lips.

Yennefer cleared her throat. “You can open your eyes now.” She sounded slightly out of breath.

Geralt didn’t want to, but he did it anyway. Jaskier wasn’t really here, never had been, Yennefer just was that good.

“Did I get it right?” she asked. Her lips were moist…so it hadn’t all been illusion. When she pulled her fingers away from his face the taste and smell of Jaskier vanished instantly.

“Nearly,” Geralt said, because he didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of his honest opinion.

She raised an eyebrow and looked down at his groin, then grinned smugly. “Close enough I see.”

Geralt pushed her away and glared at her. “That was it?”

Yennefer stood up and sat back down on the crate. “Don’t sound so disappointed. You’re hurting my feelings. It was his idea. Don’t shoot the messenger.”

Geralt narrowed his eyes. “How did he convey this message to you?”

Yennefer grinned again. “How do you think?”

“Yen-“

“Oh, shush, we discussed it very carefully, mutual consent and all. We both figured that me telling you ‘I love you’ would be confusing for everyone. Not that I would have been able to stomach his desired sincerity while pronouncing it anyway.” She made a gagging noise. “We agreed this was the best way of conveying to you what he wanted you to know.”

“Hmm.”

“He was very worried about how you’d feel about him kissing me, but he said it might be alright seeing how I wasn’t a man.” She tilted her head curiously. “I fail to see how that matters.”

Geralt felt a sense of gratitude that Jaskier knew certain things about him, even when he’d never said them out loud, and took them into consideration.

“He turned a delightful shade of green when I gently reminded him that the other end of this deal would include me kissing you,” Yennefer continued with a smirk. “I even hinted at our past. It was great.”

“You teased him.” Geralt glared at her.

“Well of course I did! Do you think I would let you idiots use my precious body as your kiss mule if I didn’t get some priceless enjoyment out of it? Plus, of course, you’re both kinda cute.” She rolled her eyes. “Except for the fact that you’re a complete idiot.” 

Yennefer bent forward and stomped his shoulder. “How could you think he would be getting married to someone else? If I were him I’d call you unfaithful just for thinking that. I did wonder why he would send you a message to reassure you of his feelings when you’ve been fucking for months already. Turns out you are still just that dense. You probably haven’t even properly told him you love him, have you?”

Geralt ignored her choked noise of disbelief when she took his silence as a confirmation. It was true a kiss like that from Jaskier dissolved the nagging doubt in his heart, but it did the opposite for the rest of his worries. A kiss was not just a reassurance, a kiss could very well be a goodbye, a final goodbye even. “There is really nothing else he wanted you to tell me?”

“Just one more thing,” Yennefer said. She was still shaking her head at him. “He told me to deliver his kiss and then tell you: If all goes well tonight, I’ll be back at your side in the time it takes Roach to travel from Cala to Bellmare.”

“What does that mean?”

“Sounds pretty obvious to me.” She stood up and patted some imaginary dust off her coat. “You’ll find out, I guess. I have better things to do with my life than pass notes between boys who won’t even properly confess. Goodbye.”

“No, Yen-“

Yennefer threw up a portal and stepped through it.

She knew more. Geralt was certain she knew more. He cursed her for not telling him.

The silence returned.

Geralt hated waiting.

Days passed agonisingly slowly and he could bend his knees now, but his legs still wouldn’t support his weight.

Geralt hated worrying.

‘If all goes well’, Jaskier had said. When had any crazy plan of Jaskier’s gone ‘well’, let alone all of it?

Milan visited him, but always sensed how grumpy he was and left quickly again. The first time he’d attempted to cheer Geralt up. Geralt still felt bad about the way he’d reacted, even though he had since apologised and Milan forgave him with the carefree cheerfulness of a child.

Geralt hated nightmares.

He barely slept, but when he did he dreamt of Jaskier alone at a wedding, surrounded by men who wanted to hurt him. They touched him, ripped his clothes open and put their dirty hands all over his body. Geralt yelled at them to stop, but he couldn’t move. All the could do was stand there, watching.

He saw Jaskier chained to the wall in a dungeon, captured by a an earl as a wedding gift to his spoiled son. He was bleeding and shivering with cold. 

He watched as Jaskier was dragged through the mud, his bound hands tied to a horse by a length of rope. The horse was Roach and she looked frantic and terrified and was bleeding where they’d stabbed her with spears to spur her on. 

Geralt was gasping for air when Milan called for him to wake up, standing a safe distance away just in case. 

Milan told him to breathe, which felt ironic.

“Is there news? Has anyone seen him?” Geralt asked.

Milan shook his head.

Geralt hated Jana and her logic.

As soon as he could walk, albeit rather unsteadily, he left the damned goat shed that had stopped smelling like goat long ago and walked to the village, following Milan’s well-worn trail through the forest.

He didn’t expect to go unnoticed, but he didn’t care. He could protect himself now that he could move and Jaskier had left him his swords and coin purse. People turned and whispered to each other when he passed them.

Jana found him on the village square. Geralt was haggling over the price of a horse that had definitely seen better days, but was the only one he had been able to find at short notice that was up for sale.

“If you leave he won’t know where to find you, witcher,” Jana said. “Piotr, don’t sell him that horse. Go home.”

The man who was apparently named Piotr quickly ducked his head and led his horse away with a wary glance at Geralt.

Geralt turned to face Jana and bit back a curse, but only because he was aware how much she’d done for him. “He should have been here by now. Let me go find him.”

“Milan has told me about his message to you,” Jana said calmly. “Cala isn’t close. If he’s been smart enough to find a bridge and not risk swimming across the Pontar he could be here tomorrow. You should have a little more faith in him.”

“But he needs me,” Geralt pleaded. “He always gets into trouble, never gets himself out.”

“Really?” Jana raised an eyebrow. “Then however did he manage to stay alive before he met you?”

Geralt growled. She didn’t understand. “This is different. He’s angered people and he’s walking right into their arms.”

She hummed. “I know what happened. Aren’t you supposed to be dead? Won’t you get him into more trouble if you show up alive?”

Jana was unrelenting in her arguments, and Geralt was just so tired. In the end he grudgingly allowed her to lead him back to her house, feed him and settle him on a thick blanket by her fire, because her bed wasn’t big enough for him. 

He definitely planned to slip away unnoticed at night, but maybe it was better for everyone if he slept a few hours before that.

“Sleep,” Jana said, “A coach should arrive from Redania today. I’ll go to the inn to hear if there’s news.”

Geralt opened his eyes, or at least he thought he did, to Jaskier sitting in a chair by his side. He looked extremely tired, slumped against the backrest, but he seemed to be watching Geralt carefully. When Jaskier noticed Geralt looking he shot up, his signature blinding smile in place.

“Geralt! I’m so glad you’re awake! How are you feeling?”

Geralt blinked at him. It all felt so real, but that didn’t mean anything. “Don’t play games with me, Yennefer, it’s not funny.” She’d gotten Jaskier’s expression and scent dead on, just like the last time.

Jaskier dropped to his knees on the floor by Geralt’s side and grabbed his hand. He squeezed it. “No, it’s me, Geralt, it’s me.” There were tears in his eyes. “How are you?”

Geralt took a long look at Jaskier’s elated face, felt himself revel in that pure smile and the happiness in his bright grey-blue eyes. 

A dream then, but all his dreams of late had been nightmares.

“Geralt?” A hint of worry bled into Jaskier’s voice. Geralt’s hand was squeezed more tightly. “Are you-”

Geralt quickly sat up, pulled Jaskier into the tightest hug he could without crushing him and held him close.

“Geralt?” Jaskier’s voice was muffled by Geralt’s shoulder. He gently patted Geralt’s back.

Geralt took a deep breath, breathing in Jaskier’s scent.

“Where have you been?” He didn’t bother to hide the emotion in his voice.

“All over the place, Cala most recently,” Jaskier said, still muffled. “Didn’t Yennefer pass on my message?”

“She did. Are you well? Did anyone follow you?” Geralt allowed Jaskier to pull back a bit and let his eyes roam over his body. “Did they hurt you?” Jaskier seemed fine, but he’d successfully hid an entire deadly illness from him before. There was a healing pink line on his throat, just above his doublet, where Nikolai’s knife had cut him.

“I’m fine,” Jaskier said. His face hardened when he saw Geralt looking. “Nikolai is dead. He won’t hurt you again.”

Jaskier’s gaze was fierce now. Geralt suppressed a shiver. He’d never seen the bard’s eyes this cold and deadly before, hadn’t even known they were capable of it.

“Jaskier? Jaskier, what have you done?”

“He hurt you,” Jaskier said. His voice broke on the words.

Geralt resisted the ridiculous urge to move back as his witcher instincts warned him there was something very powerful and dangerous right in front of him.

“He hurt you,” Jaskier said, staring into the distance over Geralt’s shoulder. “And every day since I’ve regretted stopping you from killing him. I had to make it right.”

“Jaskier, you could have gotten hurt.” 

“I planned it well, for you.” Jaskier looked at him and Geralt was once again taken aback by the fire in his eyes. “I wanted to follow him and sneak into his bedroom at night and run a dagger through every singly part of his body, but I knew I would have gotten caught even if I’d get close enough to actually stab him. Your heart was still beating when I left and you said you only needed time to heal, so I couldn’t do that, I had to make it back to you somehow.”

“What did you do?” Geralt repeated slowly.

Jaskier took a frustrated breath through his nose and his gaze drifted away. “I sang about him. I wanted to strip him of his pride with my words, watch him crawl through the mud, begging me to stop as people laughed at him. But I knew he’d just have me killed for that, so I…I praised him instead.”

“Hmm, I’ve heard,” Geralt said.

Jaskier’s eyes shot back to him. “I didn’t mean any of it, they were all lies! I threw up my dinner after the first night of performing. I despised myself. But I knew his arrogance was great enough that he’d fall for it, that he would believe I truly regretted turning him down so much I would come crawling back to him if he just spoke the word, that I would be traveling his lands, pining over him in my songs for the rest of my life if he didn’t. I knew he wouldn’t be able to resist. Roach having killed one of his men didn’t help, but he doesn’t truly care for the lives of his people.”

Geralt had known, he’d known the songs had to be part of some plan, and not Jaskier’s genuine feelings, but he still felt relief wash over him.

“He told me about his stupid wedding before he left,” Jaskier continued. “I understood how much he’d been trying to offer me, and that I’d blown that opportunity, but I didn’t expect him to pick someone else so soon. I now know the earl grew impatient and simply announced the wedding before his son had even decided on a bride. I worried I hadn’t had enough time, but Yennefer found me when I needed her, and then I was invited, just like I’d hoped.”

A realisation dawned in Geralt’s mind. “What did you need Yennefer for? It wasn’t just to send her to me with a message, was it?”

“The message was important,” Jaskier said, “in case I didn’t…in case my plan failed, but you’re right, I didn’t know who else to ask for the poison. It had to be someone competent, someone who wouldn’t talk. I didn’t know anyone else. I didn’t even know if she would help me, but I had to try.”

“You poisoned him?”

The smile on Jaskier’s lips held none of his usual carefree happiness. It was pure evil.

“At his own wedding. A slow and painful death, like Yennefer promised me, and much less conspicuous than a stabbing. I haven’t heard an official announcement of it yet, but they’re probably still investigating, and I pushed Roach to travel faster than even news can spread to get back to you.”

“Jaskier-” Geralt started.

“Don’t worry!” Jaskier interrupted him. “It acted slow just like Yennefer said, and there were so many people there. I never showed my face in the kitchen, or offered him a drink. I simply ran up to his table, grabbed his hands right before the feast started and begged him on my knees to have me any way he desired whenever he tired of his wife. He didn’t wash his hands before he ate. I carefully washed the powder of mine and drank some of the antidote in case I’d accidentally breathed it in. I don’t think I killed anyone else. He never even touched his wife afterwards, just kept staring at me all night.”

“Jaskier! You could have been poisoned!” Geralt didn’t add the ‘again’. It still hurt to think about coming so close to losing him, and to think it had happened again…

“It’s fine, Geralt, Yennefer didn’t lie to me. I didn’t even think about asking her for the antidote, you know, she just came up with that herself. I think she might secretly care about me. And I just knew she’d genuinely help me kill some rich asshole if she thought my plan was interesting enough. I was performing the entire evening, never came close to him again, not even when he turned sickly pale and excused himself. You have no idea how much I longed to watch him suffer, Geralt, but I stayed and sang until the party suddenly ended and I was dismissed.”

Geralt noticed the feral, haunted look in Jaskier’s eyes was still there. Jaskier seemed to be looking straight through him now, as if at a dark memory that still haunted him.

He cupped Jaskier’s face with both his hands. “I’m okay, Jaskier, you saved my life by bringing me here,” he said slowly. How much effort had it taken Jaskier to drag his unconscious body onto Roach’s back? How much mental strength to carefully plan a murder at the opportune moment when he didn’t even know if Geralt would make it? Maybe Jaskier was stronger than Geralt could even imagine. “Jaskier, look at me. I’m here, I’m okay.”

Jaskier had done this for him many times when he nearly lost himself in his rage, but Geralt didn’t have his soothing voice. He kept trying anyway. “You saved me. I’m here.”

He breathed a sigh of relief when the haunted look slowly bled out of Jaskier’s eyes. It was replaced by exhaustion and fondness. 

“There’s my bard,” Geralt said, stroking Jaskier’s cheek with his thumb. “Thank you for taking revenge for me, but you didn’t need to. Don’t ever fucking leave me and scare me like this again. I mean it.”

Jaskier pressed himself up against Geralt’s chest, sitting in his lap, arms wrapped around his waist and nuzzling Geralt’s neck with his face.

“I’m sorry. I can’t promise you that, but I’ll try. I’m glad you’re okay. I’ve missed you, you know? I thought it was a bad thing that I came to rely on you so much, I wanted to prove…but I think I should just accept that I need you and learn to live with that.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt said, slightly exasperated. “It’s me that needs you. I’ve missed you more than you can imagine.”

Jaskier lifted his head and stared at him. His eyes were impossibly soft. “Oh, Geralt, I love you too,” he said.

“No.” Geralt shook his head.

Jaskier’s eyes widened. “No, what?” 

“No, don’t reply like I’ve said the words when I haven’t.” 

“Oh…, I…I didn’t mean to…Do you not…” 

Geralt halted him with a glare. 

“No,” Jaskier shook his head. “I know you do, but you know I know, and you know I understand. You show me instead of telling me, I know, Geralt, you really don’t have to….what…what did you mean by no? I don’t understand, I-” 

Geralt silenced him by clasping a hand over his mouth. Jaskier was never going to let him speak if he just kept guessing like this. Geralt sighed. Some things he just had to say for himself. 

“I love you,” he said.

Jaskier just looked stunned for a long time, then he tackled Geralt to the floor, burying his face in Geralt’s neck again. Geralt wrapped his arms around him.

They stayed like that for a long time, Geralt silent, Jaskier muttering sweet silly things to him, their bodies pressed together, breathing together.

When Jaskier tried to move, Geralt only allowed him to pull back his arms so they were no longer being crushed. Then he tightly wrapped him up in his own again.

Jaskier’s chuckle tickled the sensitive skin below his ear. “Are you going to be extra clingy for a while?”

“Hmm.” Geralt squeezed him gently.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Jaskier pressed a kiss to his jaw.

Jaskier went unusually quiet after that. Geralt squeezed him again and started stroking a hand up and down his back.

“Geralt, teach me to fight,” Jaskier muttered.

Geralt’s hand stopped stroking as he thought about that request.

“I want to be able to protect myself and not get captured so easily,” Jaskier said.

“Hmm,” Geralt agreed.

Jaskier pushed himself up on his arms and looked down at him. “Or are we going to have to travel separately from now on, for safety?”

Geralt immediately crushed Jaskier’s to his chest again.

Jaskier laughed. “That’s a no. I’m glad. You know, most of the time I understand you just fine even when you don’t say anything, it doesn’t bother me, truly.”

Geralt guided Jaskier’s face up from his chest and kissed him.

“Mmm,” Jaskier mumbled something into Geralt’s mouth. His warm body shifted against Geralt’s and Geralt had to suppress a moan.

“Jana will be back soon,” Jaskier repeated when Geralt let him pull back to breathe. “Maybe we should book a room at the inn?”

Geralt lowered his hands to Jaskier’s hips, the curve of his ass. He didn’t want to wait, but he also didn’t want Jana to walk in on them.

“I left Roach there, too,” Jaskier said. “She’ll be so happy to see you. She worried. I’m sorry I took her, but I could move faster that way and…she didn’t seem to mind.”

“Jaskier, it’s fine,” Geralt said. “Roach is yours as well. I know neither of you ever listens to me anyway.”

Jaskier’s smile lit up the world.

They held hands as they walked from Jana’s house to the inn. It looked foolishly romantic and definitely raised a few eyebrows among the villagers, but Geralt couldn’t bear to let go of Jaskier just yet, if ever.

“Geralt!” a boy’s voice shouted and a small figure came running at them. “You weren’t in the forest and all your things were gone and Nana had to tell me you were here and I can’t believe you didn’t say goodbye and let me think the Snake had found you!” Milan tripped over his own feet trying to slow down when he reached them.

“Careful,” Geralt said, catching him, “and slow down,” he admonished, “save your breath. I wouldn’t leave you without saying goodbye.”

“I’m sorry,” Milan murmured as Geralt set him back on his feet. “Will you stay?”

“No,” Geralt said honestly, and Milan’s face fell. “I’ll visit,” Geralt quickly added.

Jaskier was staring between them and suddenly burst out laughing. “I can’t believe this, Geralt. I leave you alone for a few weeks and you’ve somehow acquired a son?”

Milan looked at him, surprised, as if he hadn’t even realised Jaskier was here until now. “Have you told him you love him yet?” he asked Geralt, completely ignoring Jaskier’s comment.

Geralt cleared his throat and tried to communicate to Milan with a look that he should shut up right now if he valued his life. Much like they did with Jaskier, Geralt’s glares didn’t seem to have the desired effect on Milan at all.

“Have you?” the boy repeated.

“He has,” Jaskier answered for him, looking immensely amused.

“Good! When are you getting married?” Milan asked Jaskier this time. “Will you invite me?”

Jaskier looked at Geralt, fond amusement twinkling in his eyes. “Since when are we getting married?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the lovely comments and kudos! I can't say when I'll have time to write again, but I really want to continue this series. Ideas are welcome :)


End file.
